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Monday, September 10, 2012

The One Where the Navy Writes Me a Letter

When deployment begins, so does chaos. It always seems that nothing goes wrong until after the ship pulls out and the big strong man is gone. Monday my computer broke. Tuesday the tire that needed a patch turned into four tires and a pressure monitor that needed all-out replacing. Wednesday my adviser had an issue with my internship (two weeks after he'd approved it) that, if left unresolved, would mean my internship didn't count and well over $2000 for this semester alone would be down the drain. He ended the conversation with, "Work harder". I hung up and ended the conversation with some choice words of my own, thankyouverrymuch. It got fixed on Friday, though. Saturday Nate and I spent a wonderful time with my cousin and her family that ended with Nathan pooping on their carpet. Which he hasn't done in a really really long time. And somehow it managed to escape his underpants AND his shorts. I suspect it had something to do with the funny, leg-shake, wiggle dance he did right before it popped out and rolled onto the carpet. I was good and embarrassed, especially because I'd just finished telling my cousin's husband, "Yeah, well we're still having issues with pooping. I mean. He doesn't poop on the FLOOR or anything, he just always asks for a diaper."

Yeah. Nathan totally heard that. "You think you have me trained?"

Oooh... Braxton Hicks. Hello, 30 weeks of pregnancy!

So last night Nate wouldn't sleep. He's been having issues with being willing to go down since he started part-time daycare a couple weeks ago, but since Jon's left, it's gotten a lot worse and he sobs when I leave the room. Last night was BAD. He was basically up most of the night. I gave up at 3 am and just laid in there with him. I also noticed that he seemed a little congested. Which turned into full-fledged coughing, sneezing and nose-running with a fever today. So that makes, what? Thing number five that's gone awry since the Man left a week ago... if you count a stray turd on my cousin's carpet as an awry thing. If not, then only four things have gone wrong.

Either way, today I got a piece of mail from the Navy. Up until now, I'd been answering incredulous comments of, "Surely the Navy will send your husband home for the baby's delivery!" with "The Navy don't care." But I was wrong. All this time I thought The Navy hadn't considered me at all and now here they are sending me a letter. It said something to the effect of, "We are willing to provide you with services pertaining to in-home consultations about the care of your new child." Which means, "We're concerned that you're going to start shaking your baby because your husband is deployed. This doesn't reflect well on us, so we're going to send people to teach you not to take out your angst on your child. Sincerely, The Navy, bringing PTSD to the home-front since 2010 "

Aww, gee, The Navy, thanks! You thought about me! But really, instead of that back-handed insult, I'd like to suggest something else. I don't need you to teach me not to beat my kids. If I was going to shake my children out of deployment-induced angst, I would have done so during this last deployment. The one that ended this past spring. Which is one summer ago. Have you forgotten so quickly? My request is this: I would greatly appreciate it if the admiral in charge of sending my husband away again could merely be present at the birth of my baby. In place of my husband, you know? It's not much to ask. Just a morale call, if you will. By the time Jon gets home from this deployment, he will have been gone 16 out of the preceding 20 months. It's a darn good thing he's worth waiting for. Since YOU, The Navy, don't really care about him being gone, at least show your support by letting an admiral catch the placenta. It really would mean a lot to me. In a cathartic kind of way.